“Well, well,” says Harry, a little impatient.
“Well, then, when after my late viscount's misfortune, my mother went up with us to London, to ask for justice against you all (as for Mohun, I'll have his blood, as sure as my name is Francis Viscount Esmond), we went to stay with our cousin my Lady Marlborough, with whom we had quarrelled for ever so long. But when misfortune came, she stood by her blood:—so did the dowager viscountess stand by her blood,—so did you. Well, sir, whilst my mother was petitioning the late Prince of Orange—for I will never call him king—and while you were in prison, we lived at my Lord Marlborough's house, who was only a little there, being away with the army in Holland. And then ... I say, Harry, you won't tell, now?”
Harry again made a vow of secrecy.
“Well, there used to be all sorts of fun, you know: my Lady Marlborough was very fond of us, and she said I was to be her page; and she got 'Trix to be a maid of honour, and while she was up in her room crying, we used to be always having fun, you know; and the duchess used to kiss me, and so did her daughters, and Blandford fell tremendous in love with 'Trix, and she liked him; and one day he—he kissed her behind a door—he did though,—and the duchess caught him, and she banged such a box of the ear both to 'Trix and Blandford—you should have seen it! And then she said that we must leave directly, and abused my mamma, who was cognizant of the business; but she wasn't—never thinking about anything but father. And so we came down to Walcote. Blandford being locked up, and not allowed to see 'Trix. But I got at him. I climbed along the gutter, and in through the window, where he was crying.
“ ‘Marquis,’ says I, when he had opened it and helped me in, ‘you know I wear a sword,’ for I had brought it.
“ ‘Oh, viscount,’ says he—‘oh, my dearest Frank!’ and he threw himself into my arms and burst out a-crying. ‘I do love Mistress Beatrix so, that I shall die if I don't have her.’
“ ‘My dear Blandford,’ says I, ‘you are young to think [pg 228] of marrying;’ for he was but fifteen, and a young fellow of that age can scarce do so, you know.
“ ‘But I'll wait twenty years, if she'll have me,’ says he. ‘I'll never marry—no never, never, never, marry anybody but her. No, not a princess, though they would have me do it ever so. If Beatrix will wait for me, her Blandford swears he will be faithful.’ And he wrote a paper (it wasn't spelt right, for he wrote: ‘I'm ready to sine with my blode’, which you know, Harry, isn't the way of spelling it), and vowing that he would marry none other but the Honourable Mistress Gertrude Beatrix Esmond, only sister of his dearest friend Francis James, fourth Viscount Esmond. And so I gave him a locket of her hair.”
“A locket of her hair!” cries Esmond.
“Yes. 'Trix gave me one after the fight with the duchess that very day. I am sure I didn't want it; and so I gave it him, and we kissed at parting, and said—‘Good-bye, brother.’ And I got back through the gutter; and we set off home that very evening. And he went to King's College, in Cambridge, and I'm going to Cambridge soon; and if he doesn't stand to his promise (for he's only wrote once),—he knows I wear a sword, Harry. Come along, and let's go see the cocking-match at Winchester.